


Prisoner to Oneself

by TheeQwerty



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Gay Sex, Light Angst, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prison, Public Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), prisom dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheeQwerty/pseuds/TheeQwerty
Summary: Dream begins having ‘special’ thoughts after being locked up in prison for a while now.  Between regret, remorse, and lust, he can barely makes sense of anything.  Thankfully, George’s imaginary presence in his fantasies helps him give himself a good time.-note; guys, this shit is BUSSIN I promise, ignore how short it seems, it’s one of my favorites.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 350





	Prisoner to Oneself

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short one but, goddamn, I really couldn't get the thought out of my head so I wanted to share with you! The story was originally posted to my Wattpad work ‘MCYT Smuts’ by TheeQwerty on the website. I had a great time writing this at 4 AM in a school night.

Dream shut his eyes. Tightly. So tightly, in fact, that he could distinguish the lines of what seemed to be lightning under his pupils, trying to make sense of the shapes. Trying to make sense of anything. 

At first, Dream was confident in his luck and his own abilities. He initially believed that one way or another, he would find himself free from this prison that bounded his to his crimes, his mistakes, his regrets. He believed that there was nothing he couldn't do with enough time and this was partially true, however, as hours turned to day and days to weeks- then weeks into months- he had begun to think that maybe this time he was stuck. Put away for good. 

The time spent locked away, shunned, separated and secluded from any sort of human contact had proved to be an incredibly painful punishment, cruel, even. The worst part about being locked up, the real punishment of it all, was the psychological torture that came along with being alone with your thoughts. Dream was so aware of what he had done, he knew it all too well, but the emotional agony of it didn't rain down on him until days had turned to weeks and he could no longer talk himself into forgiving or excusing his actions. 

When he closed his eyes, the lighting in his eyelids would take the shape of all the people he once knew, he once loved, he once needed. They danced freely, wildly, unbound by anything there in his blind fantasy. His thoughts were flooded by feelings of regret and remorse, the realization that he had made a great mistake and for that he was going to live the rest of his life in that agonizing regret, alone to experience it in the dark shadow of an inescapable cell. 

When he opened his eyes, tears were already dropping from his waterline, caressing his freckled cheeks, scrunching the scared bridge of his nose in frustration. At fist, he didn't like the idea of crying over his situation, it didn't seem right, but the longer that realization dunked in with him, the more he realized it didn't matter anymore. He could scream and no one would hear him, he could cry and no one would see him, he could wither and no one would bother to remember him. 

The routine was always the same to him- it was a routine of becoming drunk in shame and regret. 

Dream sat down in the confined space of his cell. His feet were pressed firmly against the ground, his shackled hands were pressed together, fingers intertwined and tucked between his legs. There was no point is maintaining him shackled like that since, as he had come to realize, the cell room was impossible to break out from the inside even if his hands were freed. It's not like it mattered to him much, though, because the real shackles were the ones in his head. 

He'd never be free for his mistakes and his regret; he had begun to understand finally how much pain he had caused the people he loved. Dream had convinced himself, pushed himself almost to the point of insanity, to the thought that his intentions were good. His intentions were to protect the peace for the people he loved- a name flashed in his head. He shuddered. 

Dream would stay up at night, unable to sleep whilst thinking about his mistakes, dwelling in his loneness. It had been his time at the prison that had allowed him to realize that, in reality, he had been left alone a long time ago. He pushed away his friends, his family. He pushed away the person he once was, only to be left as the shell of a man. 

Splat

There it was, the single tear that fell from the same eye, down the same cheek, touching the same freckles, landing perfectly on the same spot of his brown uniform. It was like routine to cry whenever he thought of his friends- George usually.  
George. Always. 

Dream frowned as his bittersweet tear continued to kiss his face and them vanish once it was absorbed by his uniform. He shut his eyes once more and leaned his body back agains the cold, obsidian wall to which his bed attached to. 

Dream fluttered his eyes momentarily, hoping it would stop the tears from rolling, but they didn't. All he could think of was George. He missed the way they were both once free. He yearned for the way George would laugh so incandescently, smile so radiantly, and scream his name with absolute joy. He missed their exchanges and their memories- and who he was when he was with him. Dream would sometimes spend hours thinking solely about George. When his heart was at his lowest, regret at his highest, his mind would seek out to the comfort of the man he once was so firmly attached to and who he once was comfort for. 

There was a shark pain, a sharp jab, directed at his heart every time he remembered George, and it was an ever sharper pain once the thought inevitably turned sour in regret. He had pushed George away, too, hadn't he?

Dream could remember exactly what George looked like that day. He remembered the way his eyes became glossy and his nose red- just like his cheeks, and his lips. He remembered the way George's lips trembled when he cried out "Just tell me you hate me." That miserable memory always came back to haunt him. 

Even when he shut his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, desperately trying to see past beyond that vision, he could still see it clearly engraved in his head and his heart. It made Dream wince. He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself for giving George that idea. Dream thought that, for as long as he could remember, he had always tried to make George happy and give in to whatever George wanted; he always wanted to make him happy and make sure he knew he was adored by Dream himself. 

However, he had said those words. Somewhere along the lines of all the things Dream had done wrong, he had made George feel like he was hated by Dream. He had pushed away his best friends, he had pushed George away. 

Dream sighed as the back of his head stilled pressed against the obsidian confinement. He opened his eyes again and looked down at his hands momentarily, observing the shackles he had now become well acquaintances with. He let his body fold over, fall onto his knees and supporting his weight with his elbows against them. Dream continued to look at the floor, drowning in his misery a little longer. 

Despite the fact that most of his memories could inevitably then sour at any point, thinking about them was the only thing he could do whilst in confinement- it became addicting to live out those memories in his head sand savor them again. He shut his eyes again as he hid his face in his hands, pressing the ball of his palms against his eyes to comfortably relive his happier memories. 

There was times, like this one, in which he felt like he could just open his eyes and he would be back with his friends, being the person he was. If he opened his eyes, there was George, smiling at him. He could perfectly picture him smiling and saying his name, talking words such as "Oh my God, you're such an idiot!" or along the lines of "Dream, come on!" or, better yet, those such as "Dream, please..."  
Dream shifted in place, trying to replay the way George would call his name. 

There was nothing that Dream missed more in the world that hearing George's voice, specially his loud screaming and the way he would call his name. Besides appreciating how hilarious it all was to Dream, he had never stopped to appreciate the way his name would so effortlessly fall from George's mouth before in the past. He felt like an idiot for taking it for granted, seeing as he would never hear George call his name ever again. Whenever he thought about it, he felt warmth spurring in his body, raising the temperature of his cold prison. 

If regret a hadn't already done so, shame would've swallowed Dream whole a long time ago when he began to think about those thoughts a bit differently. At first, he was completely mortified at the thought of finding himself fantasizing about George calling his name again in a way that would arouse him, remind himself that he was still a man with needs, after all. He would try to brush away the thoughts, try to convince himself it was just a side effect of being alone in his prison- and perhaps it was. But this didn't change the fact that, over time, Dream began to feel less troubled by his thoughts. 

Ocasionally, Dream would fantasize about George in a way he had never admitted to before. He would rethink about every single suggestive sound that George had ever made in his presence and, like an idiot, he had managed to brush off or ignore. He would think about George's small body, how frail it used to seem when he stood close to him. He could feel his hands tingle as he remembered the feel of George's skin between his fingers when they used to hug. It made him shudder. 

With his eyes closed, Dream would feel another fantasy formulating in his mind space. He could see George in front of him, with his lips as perfect and red as ever, eyes big and shiny. "Dream" he would call in Dream's fantasy. 

Dream imagined what it would be like to touch him like he never had before- like he had secretly always wanted to. His hands would probably feel like they were burning if they just brushed against George's torso, making him shuddered. Dream could practically feel his lips burning as he fantasized about lifting George's shirt and kissing his skin, sucking his porcelain skin, biting and licking anywhere he could. George's chest would probably be heaving up and down as Dream made his way up to his nipples.

Dream felt himself getting hard at the thought of kissing his nipples, nibbling and sucking them to make George moan. Dream kept his eyes closed but removed his hands from them, slowly directing them towards his pants, where his erection had formed. He began rubbing himself over his brown clothes, letting go of a soft sigh. In his mind, he could perfectly paint George shirtless on his bed, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

If he had the chance, Dream would lean down to kiss down his lips, then his neck and make him moan. He rubbed himself harder, now sliding his bounded pair of hands into the inside of his uniform, grabbing his size between his hand. The blonde man let go of another sigh as he continued to think about all the things he would do to George if he could, thoughts jumping from one thing to the other; he wanted to do absolutely everything to him. 

He began pumping his hand up and down around his manhood as he imagined himself undressing George's pants, pulling them down and kissing his inner things. He used the calloused side of his thumb to rub the underside of his tip, moaning softly, as he pictured himself in front of a kneeled George with his lips parted, mouth inviting him in. 

He blushed at the thought of George mouthing his heat, bobbing his head around Dream's cock- the real Dream shuddered, hitting a sensitive spot with his hands. He continued to grunt quietly and moan in silence as he bucked his hips into his own grip, imagining it was George's small mouth. It would probably be warm and wet, adorned by the beautiful shade of pink George's tongue and lips had. 

He let out a breathy moan as he imagined what it would feel like to burry himself deeply into George- he tightened his grip around his cock and began to pump his hand faster. Dream pretended he was fucking George, absolutely tearing him into two and pounding him until George's legs were shaking like his lips as he moaned "Dream, please don't stop!" Over and over. Dream grunted as he switched up his hands positioning, gripping at a different angle. 

Dream tilted his head back once more, completely engulfed in pleasuring himself while thinking of that small British man. "George..." Dream moaned aloud, enjoying the way his name felt on his mouth. Dream shut his lips again and grunted, rubbing the slit of his head as he continued with his fantasy. George would be desperately clutching into the mattresses as Dreamed fucked his shape into them, imprinting his body's shape into them so that he'd never forget that's where he belonged.

"God, George-" He moaned again as he continued to fuck into his fist, pretending it was George's small shape. Dream could practically hear George's moaning, his desperate begging against his ear. He could imagine the way that George would clench up around his heat the deeper he pushed himself into George. He pretended he could hear George's breathy moan, screaming "more, please! God, don't stop." And suddenly Dream was a bit closer to his orgasm, feeling that particular hot and heavy pit form in his stomach. 

He could imagine himself flipping George over on his stomach, pounding his ass mercilessly until George was trying to desperately muffle his moaning by hiding his face against the bed, clutching the mattresses. Dream let go of a soft grunt, readjusting his grip on his cock and continuing to jerk himself off faster, swallowing hard, moaning a bit louder than before. He would smell the sweat off of George's body as he cried in ecstasy against the bed, lips twisted in pleasure. "Dream, I'm yours- fuck me, deeper! Harder, please!" God, the thought of those words alone almost sent Dream over the limit, causing him to moan out agains "George, fuck...". 

"God, I want to fuck you until you can't walk- fuck!" Dream groaned aloud as he felt pre-cum begin moistening his hand further and imagined George twitching in pleasure as he came from getting pounded by Dream. He imagined George spazzing against the bedsheets and begging "I just came, slow down- please!" As Dream continued to fuck into into overstimulation. 

Dream moaned again, speeding his hand movement, the room only filled with his moaning, the wet sounds of his skin, and the rattling of his chains. He felt himself pulse in his hand as he fucked it, pretending it was George, shaking from overstimulation. He continued to imagine George begging and shaking from a dry orgasm after getting fucked so roughly. "George, ngh-" He moaned as he imagined himself thrusting a final time into George- and he thrusted against his hand- and cumming inside of him, slowly fucking all of his cum into his insides. Dream slowly opened his eyes as he felt his cum drop from his tip, still enjoying the ecstasy of his orgasm as he jerked out the last drips of cum from his cock. 

"Fuck..." Dream exhaled in relief, ignoring the fact that some of his fluids had stained his prison wear. Something about today felt different. It wasn't the first time he had masturbated to George- and it probably wouldn't be the last- but today it felt so much more intense than before for some reason. He opened his fist and stared at his pooled lust, sighing quietly. Que brought his arms up to his face, wiping his sweat by his forearms- cursing at the obnoxious length at which his dirty blonde hair was getting. 

After taking another deep breath, he looked over to his right and took a piece of toilet paper from his cell, wiping his hands. After Dream's hands were wiped clean from his sins, he slumped back down on his bed, feet firmly pressed against the ground agains, as they always were. He shut his eyes and exhaled once more time, bracing himself for a nap. There was nothing to do besides dwell in regret, masturbate, and sleep in his cell, two of those things he had already done and the vicious hand fucking had made Dream sleepy. He fluttered his eyes for a few seconds before he felt slumber make his way with him. 

At the other side of those obsidian walls, pressed next to where the bars of Dream's cell began, was a familiar face. George was leaning hard against Dream's cell, covering his mouth with his right hand to keep himself from making any sounds such as gasping from shock to give him away. George himself had a sizable erection going on in his pants, his legs shaking from excitement. He had come looking for Dream, looking for a way to bust him out or at least create a plan after gathering information on the prison but instead, he had walked in on Dream roughly fucking his fist and moaning his name. Something about the sounds he was making and the way he was calling his name turned him into a mess from the inside out and he could barely think straight- he didn't know what to do next, specially not with a boner like his.

**Author's Note:**

> well, I guess this is a cliff hanger? Sorry about that! Also, if you see any typos please point them out or just keep scrolling- I’m too tired for this shit.


End file.
